I think, anyway.

 I sit here every morning and write three pages of ‘thought flow’ before breakfast, or coffee or even before any talk with my partner, it’s what I call ‘clearing the head’ . This is not that by the way, what I write in the mornings is strictly personal and will never be seen by anyone other than myself, it’s a privacy pact I have with myself,  knowing that it will never be read by anyone else makes it easier to be totally honest with the thoughts that rush through my brain. 

We humans, poor us, we have the ability to think, to form opinions and random thoughts, to be able to be abstract in our mind - it’s the base of our creativity , also the source of our turmoil and pain. 

I sit here in my little room that I pompously call ‘my office’ and stare out the window, every now and then my eye is caught by somebody walking , driving or cycling by. To me they are just people, others, unknown - they each have their own stories to tell. Our experience is always only our experience, we never really know what goes on around us, even when others tell us about their pain or joy, failures or successes we can only imagine how they must feel, we can only relate in terms of similar things that have happened to us on this journey called life. 

We empathize, and mean it, but we can never know the real turmoil behind the mask called face of the other. 

When watching other people go by I often wonder what they think at that moment. Millions upon millions of thoughts going on all around us and we know nothing about them. If we did it would maybe explain that one person who was rude to us at the bus stop. It might make us realize that the guy who was aggressive in traffic earlier, wasn’t so much aggressive as panicked by a situation at home. 

We can’t know what goes on in other peoples minds, that’s good, it keeps life surprising, though bewildering, it leaves us lonely with our thoughts- not knowing if we are alone in thinking what we think. People can agree with us, but do they? or do they agree with what they think we are saying, do they just agree with their own interpretation of what we say we are thinking. All interesting stuff. 

In the end we are alone, and that’s how we die, after which we become somebody else’s interpretation of who and what we really were.